Good Luck and Be Safe!

Anne Lamott quipped in her April 2017 Ted Talk, “Every story you own is yours. If people wanted you to write more warmly about them, they should have behaved better.” We all laughed at that: her audience in Vancouver, and me as I listened to the recording almost a year later.  

My own story began with an angelic mother.  In kindergarten, I distinctly remember feeling empathy for my classmates, looking at each of them in genuine compassion as I realized that none of them got to go home to my mother at the end of the day. How could they face life, I wondered, without my mother behind them?

The most hurtful thing my mother ever said to me was, “Tashi, I’m just me!” after I went on and on about all the wonderful qualities I saw in her. So her worst fault was that she wasn’t big on compliments.  I share this only to illustrate how remarkably well my mother behaved to merit the accolades that follow. Ah, my dear, sweet mother. Though she wouldn’t want me “tooting her horn,” I’m going to indulge myself and sing her praises to my heart’s content.

Did I mention my mother is an angel? She passed away last April. So many beautiful moments gave us peace in her “graduation” from this life. The sacred details are recorded in my journal, which I feel is the appropriate place to leave them, rather than posting them here.

I miss her. All my sisters do. We often share with each other the sweet remembrances we have of her. As I write this, I’m taken back five decades to the time I sat with my mom on the foot of her bed. I was trying to find meaning in the sorrow overwhelming my six-year-old heart. Our beloved pet had just died and our whole family was grieving over his death.  I moaned, “I don’t want to have pets anymore if it has to hurt so much when they die.” My mother wisely comforted me saying, “Losing pets helps prepare us to deal with the pain when we lose people we love.” Somehow giving a purpose to the pain made all the difference. And I do think it helped prepare me for the pain of her passing.

What I really want to write about, though, is not about her death, but her life:

Arlene Nelson Williams

(1925 – 2017)

An Idaho-girl, Arlene was born in a farmhouse, the oldest of eleven children. She was a natural nurturer. She decided she wanted to be a nurse at the tender age of 6, and fulfilled that ambition, working in the nursing field for 45 years.

Arlene was a year and a day older than Lois, her next sibling. Lois was the more adventurous of the two. At age 3, Lois would play rambunctiously and then caution her big sister not to attempt her daring feats, warning, “Too dangelous for you, Arly!” But Lois made it look so fun that Arlene broke free of her timid nature and joined Lois in her escapades. Once they took it upon themselves to provide their family with a rare chicken dinner.  Though they grew up on a chicken farm, the chickens were reserved for customers. She and Lois (ages 5 & 6) reasoned that with all those chickens, they should be able to have one for dinner. So they each caught a chicken and took them to the chopping block. When Arlene's first blow failed to behead her chicken, Lois let hers go and held onto Arlene's chicken so the next blow finished the deed.  At this point, Arlene’s conscience got the better of her. She knew she’d done wrong by killing a chicken without her dad’s permission, so she hid the chicken in a bush.  Lois let their dad know about the chicken, all ready for dinner. Arlene's punishment was to be sent to her room while the family dined on poultry that night. Her mother later snuck her a little piece because she had worked so hard for the family’s chicken dinner; Arlene fondly remembered that one bite of chicken was delicious!

Lois and Arlene in costume (Arlene is on the right)

As a child, Arlene: 

•  Delighted in brightening up her home with flowers.
•  Hauled 100 wagon-loads of gravel to earn a dollar so she could buy herself a doll, and helped Lois haul another 100 loads of gravel for the same purpose.
• Sponge-bathed her many little brothers, strategically waiting for them to fall asleep first as she discovered they were far more cooperative with being washed while slumbering.
• Sat in her father’s chicken-coop for endless hours, tagging the best layers. She noted the chickens made a satisfied cackle when they laid their eggs, so she called eggs “cackle-berries.”
• Felt tremendous sympathy for Lois after she was scolded by their mother for looking for the potato jackets. (When their mother told Lois to boil the potatoes in their jackets, Lois envisioned little blue jackets like Peter Rabbit’s rather than the hum-drum potato-skins.) Arlene decided then that she would never scold her own children. She did remarkably well at keeping that goal.

She met our Dad, Leslie Warren Williams, while she was in nursing school at BYU. She wrote, “I was watching this tall, handsome man and thinking, I think he’s going to be talking to me. Then the lights went out and the room became darker… I looked up and this [handsome man] was standing beside me asking me if he could stand [by] the light of my fluorescent watch.” They danced, they dated, and before long she was whisked away to California to meet his family.  Then they married and had six daughters, raising them together. Warren died three years before Arlene and she missed him very much.

Arlene with Leslie Warren Williams

As a woman, Arlene:

·         Always kept her child-like zeal for life. She especially loved nature: flowers, birds, picnics in the mountains, and picking HUCKLEBERRIES!

·         Designed and created amazing building projects. (I admit I was sometimes disappointed as a child to discover the motor I heard running wasn’t a kitchen appliance whipping up delightful treats, but the power drill.) She also designed and crafted many colorful afghans.

·         Cared for the young, the old, people & pets, showing the utmost respect to all.

·         Had a magical way of calming babies.

·         Had a goal to never get angry. She wrote how a friend told her, “when people get angry it never helps the situation … So I stay calm and things usually turn out much better.”  

·         Was a model of determination.  She never let difficulties get in the way of her completing her projects.  Whenever any of her daughters despaired of completing an assignment we were supposed to do for school, Mama would magically make it happen for us. Often we’d wake up the next morning to find she’d worked through the night to set things right for us so we could finish our task. She showed us that we can accomplish anything we set out to do. She also taught us to always fulfill our responsibilities.

·         Loved to learn her whole life long. She always took notes at meetings because she felt it helped her learn more and made it possible for her to share what she learned. She often read biographies of both great and humble people.

·         Took delight in her heritage. She raised her children on the stories of our ancestors. She recorded her own story in many memoirs. I’m so grateful!

·         She always wished us goodbye by saying, “Good luck and be safe!”

Left--Arlene in her HS graduation dress, 

Top Right--Arlene's look of hope at the thought of being with her husband in the next life 

Bottom right--Arlene with Lois playing in the sandbox (Arlene is on the right)

Arlene and Lois, a lifetime later (Arlene is on the right)

Thanks to Rachel, Lois's daughter, who took this picture and gave me permission to post it.

My sister, Velinda wrote, "This picture brings tears to my eyes. Those two sisters dearly loved each other. 

When Lois left this world, [it wasn't long before] our mother left it, too."

Since our last goodbye, I've been about the business of having "good luck" and being safe.  It definitely helps knowing I've got such a loving angel looking out for me and mine. (Thanks Mama! I love you so much and always will.)

Let Us Now Praise Famous Men

                      "Who sabotaged my towel?!" my dad cried out in frustrated anger. "Someone hid some pins in my towel and they scratched me all up."

                I froze in my 8-year-old tracks, hiding in silence.

                I had a rocky relationship with my dad between the ages of 8 and 18. I was a perfectionist and often felt that I did not measure up in his eyes.  I was jealous of my sisters who seemed to effortlessly win his approval.  He could be gruff at times and my super-sensitive-self would wither under a disapproving gaze.  I won't deny I could be a brat towards him. I refused to sit next to him in church, to name one example.

                And I planted the pins in his hand towel.

                I didn't do it maliciously.  They were decorative pins and I thought they looked nice there, not thinking of the possibility they could do any harm.  It took me over 40 years but I finally owned up to it, though everyone else in my family had long since forgotten the incident.   

                When I left home, I made a choice to let go of any negative feelings I had towards my dad and hang on to all of the positive ones.  It was a good choice. I grew to appreciate my dad more and more over the years.  Few people have done as much as he has to make me recognize my own worth. 

                During my dad's last months of mortality, he grew very weak.  The once-simple effort of talking grew comparable to struggling against a tidal force.  He needed help but had a hard time expressing his needs.  As I took my turn serving as his caretaker, sometimes I'd get things wrong and he'd seem a bit impatient in letting me know.  In a flash, my childhood insecurities resurfaced and I saw myself as the disfavored child.  I told myself not to take it personally, that my dad's frustration wasn't about me, but rather the exertions that were wearing him down.

                Then came his final week.  One by one, his daughters visited to tell him goodbye.   The date of March Fourth came, which my Dad always liked to say was the only day of the year that could be issued as a command.  He thought it a fitting day to March Forth to the next life, but he held on a little longer in order to say goodbye to the rest of his children. I was one of the holdouts. I couldn't believe he was really going.  On March 6, 2014, Just a few hours before he died, I was at his bedside.  I did all the talking, telling him how much I love him, how his many letters will be such a comfort, how I learned valuable lessons from him.  I promised to take care of my mom and their cats.  He seemed grateful.  His eyes took on the look of the ancients--windows into an eternal soul.  I told him when I'd seen that look before in my daughter's eyes as she was sealed to us in the temple.  He seemed amazed by that.  I told him about the walk with the Savior two of my close friends had shared with me, recalling their Near Death Experiences.  "You're about to take that walk, Dad," I cried.  Though it was beyond his strength and ability, he reached up his arm to hug me and his head to kiss me.  Finally with all the strength he could muster, he grunted his last words, "I love you." To me.  His last words were to tell the daughter who unreasonably considered herself the cast-off, "I love you."  No balm of Gilead could ever be more healing. Suddenly, there was nothing left of the feeling that my dad didn't appreciate me. Absolutely nothing.  All those decades I'd lived thinking it was healed until he was on his deathbed when it resurfaced. And then nothing but complete, heartfelt love.

                His memorial service was a year ago today.  The day after that I felt like I was trying to hold onto life over the edge of a cliff.  I prayed for comfort and received the inspiration just to let go.  So I let go of the strain and the angst and found myself floating in love.  Many times over the last year, I've had a thought to share or a question to ask him.  Then it hits me in the gut that I can't talk to him anymore, so I move my thoughts heavenward.  I miss him and I hope I never finish my conversation with him.

Leslie Warren Williams

(1922 - 2014)

He was born to a farmer and teacher, John and Elsie Williams, the youngest of four sons. He nearly drowned in a watering trough as a toddler, but his life was saved by his twin brother, who caught their father's attention by circling the trough in alarm. 

In high school he ran the mile in 4:36 which was only 10 seconds more than the California state record and 30 seconds more than the world record at the time.

                He served in the US Navy during World War II as a radar technician because of his knowledge of Ohm's Law. (This despite the fact his technical abilities were such that, years later, operating a tape recorder took considerable coaching from his teenage daughter.)

He became intrigued by how differently sandy versus clay soils behaved, so he studied soil science at Brigham Young University.  This is where he met his lifelong love, Arlene Nelson.  The power happened to go out at a dance, but not before a lovely nurse caught his eye.  When her fluorescent watch glowed in the dark, he suavely approached her and asked if they could dance by the light of her watch.  A couple of months later, he asked her out.  She wondered what took him so long and then realized he had to buy a pink car for their courtship (she still laughs about this nearly 65 years later). They were married in 1951 and became the parents of six daughters.

                He mapped three million acres of land in California and Colorado for the US Soil Conservation Service (when mapping a mere million earned a life-time recognition award).

                He delighted in teaching Sunday School, loved writing and sharing poetry, took pleasure in gardening, and enjoyed reading about numerous topics, particularly Bible studies.  He loved folk songs of all heritages. He was a lifelong learner. He had some skill as an orator which he practiced in Toastmasters and on the stage of Springville's Villa Playhouse Theatre. He had a keen intellect, crunching numbers like a calculator, rattling off World Series stats and batting line-ups. He had the reputation that whatever he said, "you could take to the bank." One of his daughters quipped, "He was PC before it was PC to be PC," due to his genuine regard for human rights.

                My dad lived by the motto, "Do the duty that lies nearest to thee, and already the rest will be clear." He followed Langston Hughes' poem "Hold fast to dreams . . ." as a life theme.  He was extremely thoughtful of others. For example, when he drove past clotheslines with wash hanging out to dry, he would always slow down so as not to kick up dust.  He had impeccable integrity and inspired others with his poet's soul.  In his final months, it was a joy to serve him as he tenderly expressed gratitude for the smallest acts of caring.

My dad loved the sentiment from a verse in the apocrypha stating, "Let us now praise famous men," because it defines "famous" as those who have done good works and have posterity, for their glory will never fade. (Ecclesiasticus 44:1 - 14)

Here's to one of  the "famousest" of men.

For more, see lessons from Dad (and Mom) in Celebrating Sixty Years

Joy in the Journey

One afternoon, I got a phone call that launched me on a life-changing quest.  A publisher called to tell me he wanted to publish the book I was writing about my great-great-grandmother’s journey with the Willie Handcart Company.  I had sent his company a query letter not two days before so I calculated he must have called me the minute he got my submission.  He asked how long it would take me to finish writing my novelized biography.  My head was spinning; judging by my progress, I might be able to complete it in six months. Before I gave my answer he asked me, “Can you have it done by the end of the month?”

I heard myself say “Yes.”

That was the moment I joined my great-great-grandmother on her journey to the Promised Land. 

For three weeks, I was on the trail with the family of Margery Bain Smith.  My initial excitement mirrored their joyful beginning.  Midway through, my plodding progress reminded me of their tedious trek across the plains.  When I reached their life-and-death moments, I struggled to create the passion and power those episodes warranted.   

I learned the pioneer journey was both a physical and a spiritual one.  Their physical journey planted their descendants’ roots west of the Rockies.  Their spiritual journey showed us how highly to value our faith.  I saw how faith still works miracles, sensing angelic help: some seen (my husband and sisters) and some unseen.
          I made the deadline and submitted my book in June of 2006.  I reached the border of the Promised Land, but like the Children of Israel, I wouldn’t be entering the “land of milk and honey” to enjoy the fruits of my labors—at least not yet.  The publisher’s financial backer decided not to fund my book, but it didn’t really bother me.  I had made the trek and learned lessons that enriched my life. 

People kept asking me about my book and, after four years of “wandering in the wilderness,” I felt it was time to pursue publishing it again.  I received so much inspiration writing it; I know it wasn't just for my personal benefit.  It is a powerful, true story that needs to be told.  I’m completing a final revision and love the story now more than ever. 
           Through telling their story, I hope to link my generation to theirs.  No story could have more heartache. Yet no journey could be more joyful.
          

Margery Bain Smith

(1804 – 1889)

Margery Smith faced a difficult choice. She was a widowed mother of six; one daughter was recovering from tuberculosis, another from Scarlet Fever, her youngest child was crippled and she, herself, was suffering from dysentery.  The Rocky Mountains loomed before her and her only adult son was on the other side of them.  She had to make a decision that would be a matter of life and death for herself and her children.

Three months earlier, Margery and her family left their Scottish homeland to journey to the seat of their newfound religion.  Now she found herself in the Nebraska Territory with no easy options.  She and her traveling companions, the Willie Handcart Company, were warned that if they pushed west so late in the season, they would surely face winter storms crossing the Rockies.  Yet if they stayed in Nebraska, there was no way the five-hundred people in their group could be provided food and shelter.  The Company as a whole had to head west, but some of the individual families were choosing to stay behind. What would Margery do?

She lived by the motto, “God helps those who help themselves,” and she knew she had done everything in her power to go where God had called her to go.  She decided to trust in the Lord and she left the last refuge of civilization behind her, pulling all her worldly belongings in a hastily-made-handcart.

Their trail was plagued by trials:

·         A buffalo stampede scattered their draft oxen, never to be recovered.

·         The food they expected to find at Fort Laramie was not there.

·         They were on quarter rations when an early winter storm blasted the region.

·         They endured a forced march over Rocky Ridge which many of their company never recovered from.

But Margery lived by another motto, also:

I will not dwell upon the hardships we endured,

Nor the hunger and cold,

But I like to tell of the goodness of God unto us.

The moment Brigham Young received word there were Mormon immigrants on the plains, he organized a relief effort.  Hundreds of teams were mustered to carry food and supplies to the beleaguered pioneers.  But for many of them, the help came too late.

Margery's physical reserve was utterly depleted after carrying her six-year-old son over Rocky Ridge. A few days later, she was trodding in the deep snow and knew she would not make it to camp that night.  She sent her children on ahead of her so they would not have to witness her demise.  But her middle daughter, Mary, would not leave her side. 

Ahead on the trail, her children were fascinated by the approach of a rescue wagon.  It was the first one they’d seen with a single yoke of oxen.  In their pitiful plight they made a game of it, wishing that the man in the wagon would be their older brother, Robert.  As the wagon drew closer, the driver stared at them and then called, “Whoa!” to his team.  The voice brought home the impossibly perfect fact that they were standing in the presence of their brother!  They tearfully greeted each other and soon tied the handcart to the wagon. But where, Robert wanted to know, were Mother and Mary?  They headed east to find them. 

From a distance, they saw Mary kneeling by a body stretched out on the snow.  “Too late?” the family asked themselves, “was help coming too late to save our dear Mother?”

Robert pulled the wagon to a halt beside his weary mother.  He found Mary trying to convince Margery that Robert had come to rescue them.  Margery couldn’t believe it until she was swept up into his arms.  Margery said that she couldn’t have been happier to be welcomed into the Kingdom of Heaven.

Margery promised God that if she survived the trek she would never complain again.  She lived to keep that promise, even though she later became blind.

Rather than becoming bitter and losing faith in the God they were counting on to make the winter mild, these pioneers focused on the goodness of the Lord.  Instead of teaching their children that God didn’t answer their prayers to protect them from harm, they told the story of how greatly they were blessed to be rescued.  They showed us how to do hard things and be grateful for the blessings received through the challenge.  The way they pulled through their trials on the trail over 150 years ago still affects us today. 

This picture of Margery Bain Smith and her children was taken around twenty years after their trek.  (Her youngest son was deceased.)

Source:  "The Tired Mother," Improvement Era, July 1919 by Betsey Smith Goodwin.

A Noble Heritage

The spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit,

That we are the children of God:

And if children, then heirs; heirs of God,

Romans 8:16 – 17

When my daughter was four, her older brother discovered that she would do anything if prefaced with the statement, “Princesses do this . . .” Even the dental hygienist used this tactic, promising her “princess teeth” if she sat down and opened wide.  The moment we got home from the dentist, she raced to the mirror where she mournfully noted, “But Mom, my teeth are still just white!”  Who knows what she imagined princess teeth would look like, but after a lesson on “pearly whites” she was satisfied. 

My daughter understood that even though she was apparently a normal little girl in an average household, she was really a princess because she is the daughter of a King.  She announced to me with the sage of youth, “I am a princess because I am a child of God and the scriptures say so!  Thank you scriptures!”

A beloved prophet said, “There has come to you as your birthright something beautiful and sacred and divine. Never forget that. Your Eternal Father is the great Master of the universe. He rules over all, but He also will listen . . . and hear you as you speak with Him.” Gordon B. Hinckley, "Stay on the High Road," Ensign, May 2004.

George Washington

(1732 - 1799)

King George III ruled the British Empire, but a man of greater nobility led the Colonial Army. 

George Washington possessed many readily recognizable virtues.  For example, at the Battle of Princeton, he saw his front-line crumble in fear when their commander was crushed by the British.  So Washington forged ahead of all his men upon his white steed.  The smoke from the firing muskets was so thick that it took a few moments for it to clear before his men could see that Washington was miraculously unharmed.  He led his men to victory.

Six weeks later, the Pennsylvania Journal published this description of the Father of our country: 

"In his public character he commands universal respect and admiration.  Conscious that the principles on which he acts are indeed founded on virtue, he steadily and coolly pursues those principles, with a mind neither depressed by disappointments nor elated by success, giving full exercise to that discretion and wisdom which he so eminently possesses."

After the Revolutionary War, a group of men urged Washington to become King George I of America.  This proposal grieved him.  He honored freedom too much to even consider accepting a crown.  His noble nature was so firmly rooted in his core that he didn't need an outward manifestation of it.  He wore his crown in his character.

               

Not Ordinary

There are no “ordinary” people.

C. S. Lewis

Last winter I was shopping for my rock-collecting daughter.  While admiring a  gorgeous geode, the merchant told me the story about where it was found:

At an excavation site, mounds of gray rocks were unearthed. The heap of rubble was bulldozed into oblivion.   No one questioned if the stones had any value. But then one was crushed, revealing beautiful crystals inside. Though outwardly plain, the rocks held hidden treasures:  gems within geodes. What formed the crystals?  Heat and pressure.  What brought them to light?  Opening up.  

Shinichi Suzuki wrote in Nurtured by Love, “Anybody who takes up an art [or the quest for excellence] is apt to think of the object of his ambition as something very far off, . . . The real essence of art turned out to be not something high up and far off.  It was right inside my ordinary daily self.  . . . If a musician wants to become a fine artist, he must first become a finer person.  If he does this, his worth will appear . . . in everything he does.”

Sarah Frances Rucker Williams
(1849 - 1934)

“They don’t call her one-shot-Sarah for nothing,” Cyrus’ final comment hung in the air as he punctuated his statement with a warning look directed at his children. The offense they were to avoid on pain of punishment was the crime of laughing at their Great-Aunt Sarah.  

Upon entering Sarah's home, Cyrus would swoop to grab the newspaper and open it wide as the family settled in for their visit.  The trouble with Aunt Sarah wasn’t that she was boring but that one never knew what wildly random thing was going to pop out of her head. So the kids had to keep themselves braced to stifle any laughter she might elicit for their father feared she would take it for mocking.

It did not escape his daughter's notice that Cyrus chuckled freely, his face hidden behind the newspaper.

Sarah was a fascinating character--a legend in my family history.  She was my father's grandmother and had the reputation of possessing the "energy, ability and . . . determination to carry out any undertaking."

Sarah smoked a pipe with a curved stem, wore red flannel underwear and possessed a book on etiquette.  Her posterity speculate as to whether she ever opened it.  Or maybe she did the same as my older sisters who thumbed through the book and laughed at the Nineteenth Century sense of decorum. 

• She was known to announce in front of guests that the dinner glasses could be returned directly to the cupboard as "they had nothing but water in them."
• Once she walked up to a snarling bobcat armed only with a fence post.
• At age 78 she put the local ranchers to shame by saving their herds' hide and dispatching a troublesome coyote.  She succeeded where they failed by taking her time and watching the coyote's pattern for three nights before positioning herself where she was able to take care of business with a single shot. 

Crusty on the outside, strength and determination on the inside--my great-grandmother epitomizes the "Gem in the Geode."  It was said of her that she always did whatever needed to be done, no matter how difficult the task.